South From That Place
by Helena Gray
Summary: Post-Endgame. Driven apart by a tragic loss, and struggling to adjust to life back on Earth, Janeway and Chakotay find their way back to each other. C's POV.
1. Chapter 1

**Notes/Background:** This story concept came into my mind a couple days ago, and I haven't been able to shake it. Posting this first chapter because I need to know if I'm crazy and I should stop, or if this is actually a good idea. (Still at it with "Lifeline", but I had to get this out of my system :))

First off, pretend with me that C/7 didn't come out nowhere in season 7. I know, I know...but go with me for a minute here...

Seven was basically brought back into the "fold" of humanity by Kathryn, and Kathryn's imprint is there, in a lot of Seven's personality. And let's face it - Kathryn loves Seven. Given that, let's say Seven is desirable to Chakotay, not only because of her "obvious attributes", but because she is "of" Kathryn, in some ways. And let's say that he does "fall in love" with Seven. Not that he's stopped loving Kathryn - he hasn't. The heart can be a roomy place...and to my thinking, there's _a lot_ there - between all three of them, really. Maybe this is just what happens to me when I read too much Anaïs Nin - and I'm not sure that I will be going down _that_ kind of road, of if I'm even capable of capturing those themes (or if anyone will want to read it!). But regardless, I am going with a more expansive take on "love" here, if that makes sense.

The setup is this - They are back on Earth. Seven has died, tragically, and it did not put Chakotay in a grave, but it did produce a horrible, painful, heartbreaking rift between C and J. Regardless of later exploration, this is the story of their "coming back to each other", sharing in the loss of Seven, and finding solace and love, in each other.

Title inspired by the Mumford & Sons song, "Ghosts that we knew".

And I swear I won't be posting a story-length note at the beginning of every chapter. ;)

**Summary:** Post-Endgame. Driven apart by a tragic loss and struggling to adjust to life back on Earth, J and C find their way back to each other. C's POV.

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_"The struggle, to emerge out of the past, clean of memories; the inadequacy of our hearts to cut life into separate and final portions; the pain of this constant ambivalence and interrelation of emotions; the hunger for frontiers against which we might learn as upon closed doors before we proceed forward; the struggle against diffusion, new beginnings, against finality in acts without finality or end, in our cursedly repercussive being…"_ ~ Anaïs Nin (Diary Vol. 1: 1931-1934)

_"Living never wore one out so much as the effort not to live."_ ~ Anaïs Nin

* * *

**South From That Place**

_One_

It rained last night.

I'm still not used to the sound.

It kept me awake - not because it was loud or disruptive to sleep, but because I couldn't stop listening to it. _Thinking about it._

All of the strange, wonderful, and frightening things I encountered over the last many years - the new species, the unfamiliar interstellar phenomenon, the cosmic wonders no other humans have seen, save for our 150 displaced souls - and I am captivated by the simple rain. _Earth's rain._ Molecules billions of years old, composed of elements produced by distant stars, cycling from ocean to land, over and over. An endless refrain, touching all that lives on this planet - all that has ever lived here.

The grass is still wet, and there's a light fog over the city, but it's burning off quickly. The spring sun is shining diffusely through the haze and in an hour or so, it will be clear and bright.

I started my walk when the morning light was new and the thick, moist air cold against my skin. I've come to know this route even though the city still feels foreign.

_They say it will take time._

My walk is a meditation. My movement across the landscape clears my head, brings an equanimity rare these days.

It is a bitter, unapologetic reality that waits (always - _forever_ - waits, now) at the top of the hill, and my walk prepares me to face it. I guess that's why I go, why I walk. Because it's too easy to forget, to imagine that the absence I feel every day is temporary.

I go to honor her, too, of course. To mourn, and to say goodbye.

I'm still working on the latter.

What's hard is that it's not _goodbye_ to a life lived fully or completely - instead, it is farewell to a thousand things that might have been. That _could_ have been.

The ground is soft beneath my feet, the grass a lush green, glistening in the strengthening sunlight. I'm no longer chilled, and I strip off my jacket, drape it over my arm.

Somehow, the hill I am climbing never feels tough enough - as if I should have to endure something to reach my destination. (As if we did not endure enough already.)

Presidio is waking behind me, the familiar (yet _odd_) buildings crisping into view as the fog continues to lift, and I turn briefly to look over the place that has shaped so much in my life - for better or for worse, I cannot discern.

I resume my course, and soon I'm walking near a row of cypress trees. I could map their pattern and spread with my eyes closed, because I'm getting close, and early on this is where I always stopped. _Hesitated._

There's the eucalyptus tree, and the edge of the fence.

_Eight months, to the day._

The well-manicured landscape secludes and softens the meaning of the place, and I am appreciative of whomever it is that tends these grounds. Always orderly, always beautiful - exactly as _she_ was.

Colorful flowers line the walkway, and I stoop to pick a bright purple dahlia.

I pass between the iron posts that mark the entrance to the cemetery, and when I glance over to my destination in the third row, the flower slips from my hand and my body is frozen in place.

Moments later, I'm retreating back behind the gate, and once I feel a safe distance, I breathe again - attempt to collect myself.

It's not that I'm surprised to see her here - and honestly, it's a wonder I haven't run into her before. But I haven't _seen_ her since _that day_, when we all gathered here, anger and sadness mixing with obligation and duty, and we didn't exactly speak to each other then.

That flash of auburn I glanced, that I'd recognize anywhere, was a shock to my system, and I'm reeling from the turbulent mix of feelings her presence has unearthed.

I've always _planned_ to see her again, but I haven't been able to think about it - haven't been able to _feel_ what seeing her makes me feel, because I just haven't had the room. And now, reunion is literally a few meters away, and I'm shaken to my core as everything rushes in at once.

But I also feel foolish, as I think about it, and the fact that part of me is considering vanishing right back down the hill. I could tell myself it's out of respect - to give her privacy. And sure, that's valid, but the truth of it is that I just don't know if I can face her.

Not all that long ago, she was my best friend and I could hardly fathom a day without her.

I've not truly faced the break of our friendship because I can only cope with so much loss at once. But more than that - I just..._can't_. Maybe it's the "denial" phase of grief, maybe it's guilt, but something in me, through all of this, is unable to let go. And in my mind, when I think of the future, it is hard to imagine she will not someday be there again, in my life.

There is a rocky path between here and there, more difficult to traverse, perhaps, than the Delta Quadrant.

I realize I have a decision to make, and it's frustrating to feel this uncertain of myself, to feel this destabilized.

Then again, Kathryn's always had a way of throwing me off balance.

_Deep breaths._

I will my pulse to slow, and as I breathe in and out, I decide - I'm won't be _that guy. _I'm not going to cower away, when - if I'm being honest with myself - pretty much everything in the universe that matters to me is a just few meters away. The lifeless form beneath the earth, and the grief-stricken woman above her - they were, they are, my heart.

_And she loved us both._

We do her no honor, no kindness, by avoiding each other - and in fact (I am suddenly struck), it is rather selfish of us, considering that we still breathe, still pulse with life - still possess that which was taken from her...

So I walk back into the cemetery, resolved to let fate play out as it will.

Row three, 15 plots down, to the right. It's newer graves I pass as I make my way there - officers, all. Except for the one.

This section's almost full, and while that's not unexpected, given our line of work, it still gets to me, the reality, the finality of it all. And knowing that many of the graves are empty, the bodies having been jettisoned into space in some distant sector, or lost completely in the circumstances of death. The headstones, most of them, are mere markers - tokens of honor for service performed.

Hers is a simple, flat headstone. Marble. I can see from the end of the row that the projection's not activated.

I don't ever turn it on, either. I'm not sure why.

Kathryn is at the grave, kneeling and sitting back on her feet. Her right hand is pressed to the earth, below the headstone - her eyes are closed and she looks lost in some memory. I wonder if by now she's able to recall the good ones, or if images from that fateful day still dominate. If the choices, the twists of fate, still haunt her days and nights.

As I stare at her small, motionless frame from my short distance away, I realize I already know the answer.

I drag my feet a bit, rustling the grass so that I won't startle her. She tilts her head at the sound, and a moment later she opens her eyes and looks right at me.

I halt my approach, and I've too many thoughts and feelings upon catching her gaze to think or feel anything clearly. She's staring at me (_into_ me), but her eyes are distant at the same time, and it's as if she's trying to decide if I'm real.

_Or if she wants me to be._

I'm a couple of meters away, and I can only wait, watching her face as she considers me.

The wind plays at her hair - it's at least an inch or two longer than when I last saw her, and it reminds me of years long past. Those days feel a lifetime ago.

I realize suddenly that I'm worried - terrified, actually - that she hates me, wants nothing to do with me. Some part of me wishes I'd gone back down the hill, never let her see me, because I don't know if I'm ready to _know..._

She pulls her hand off the ground, places it in her lap, and I see her let out a long breath. She looks back at the headstone for a moment, and I think my fears confirmed until she stands and turns to face me. Her eyes are glassy as they meet mine again, and I almost laugh with elation when she says, simply - "hello."

My relief must be obvious because she presses her lips together in a tight smile - not a _real_ smile, but an acknowledgment, I think, of how difficult this is.

Though my pulse is still wild, and I am almost shaking from the torrent of emotion running through my veins, I assume her greeting and her posture an invitation, and I take the last steps toward her.

"Kathryn... It's good to see you."

She looks at me, her eyes scanning, searching mine. I can't read her and so I'm waiting again, for her to react, to give me some indication that it's really okay that I'm here. I'm not sure if it's seconds or minutes that pass as I stand facing her.

I don't recoil or fall from her gaze, and standing this close distance, breathing her presence, I find very suddenly that I am _open_ - that I am _here_, in this moment. That I _am_ ready. Whatever comes next, I know, with all of my being, that I have nothing but love for her. It calms me.

Suddenly I see her lower lip tremble, and a tear slides down her cheek. She turns her gaze down, and I can tell she's trying very hard to steel herself up, to keep it all in, but _this is us._ There's too much here for this moment to be still and unfeeling, and my own eyes are watering as I feel my love for her coursing through my body - the relief of it, the strength of it, fills me.

When she speaks, her voice is not that of the firm, steadfast captain I remember so well - it is the voice of the Kathryn I saw precious few times in our years together. The Kathryn who feels things so deeply, so profoundly, so _thoroughly_, it breaks my heart in half and pulls my soul from the depths of my body, so desperately does it seek to wrap itself around her.

"I've... missed you."

A weight I didn't realize was so large, and so heavy, lifts from my body at her simple words. I spring forward and embrace her tightly, my tears mixing with hers.

As we hold on to each other, the distance, the angry, hurt feelings, fall away - not for good, I know. That rocky, troubled path is still before us, and there is _much_ to contend with. But right now, all that matters is the whole, real presence in my arms - that she is not completely lost to me.

And that the rocky path - littered with everything that pulled us apart and took what we were - might not be impossible to tread, might not be out-of-reach, anymore...


	2. Chapter 2

Please see chapter 1 for info and disclaimers. Thank you so so much for the reviews and follows on the first chapter, and for clicking here and reading on even though it's taken me forever to update! I won't bore you with the reasons (RL blah), but do know that I'm committed to finishing this story and Lifeline - they shall not be eternal WIPs! Thank you so much for sticking with me.

* * *

**_South from that place_**

**_Two_**

The two steaming cups of black in front of me are so _ordinary_, so unremarkable, it almost makes me laugh, considering. We sit, unceremoniously, Kathryn and I, at a table in the corner. Chestnut Street - her choice.

We've ordered breakfast, and as we wait, I can't help but to stare at her. And though some part of me is still stuck in disbelief at the unexpected turn this day has taken, I feel a kind of _calm_ - deep, and solid - as I take her in.

I haven't _seen_ her in eight months, haven't spoken with her in over a year, and honestly, we drifted apart well before that. I realize now, as I watch her - presence, gestures, so familiar, even after all this time - that I've been missing her, in one way or another, for years.

She glances up from her cup suddenly, looks directly at me, and I catch a flash of humor in her eyes - because she knows I'm trying to read her. Gauge her feelings. It used to be part of my job, but I'm more than a little out of practice these days, and she knows it.

I smile automatically at the spark of recognition that passes between us - and the way it brightens her eyes. But the moment passes quickly, and I watch the levity slip from her face - burdens, loss, resuming their place at the forefront. She turns her gaze to the windows, and I'm not sure if it's my loss or hers weighing more heavily on her mind.

We didn't talk about it much, on the way here.

As we left the cemetery and made our way down the hill, our steps fell into sync easily, the sensation of walking beside her both familiar and not. And although our pace seemed to reflect the way neither of us feels quite at home here - as if the planet's gravity is maybe just a touch too strong - we could not have asked for a more beautiful morning to simply _walk_, and I can't remember the last time I felt so happy doing just that.

We traded observations about the landscape - both of us clearly still captivated by the aesthetics of life planetside - and we talked about mutual friends and colleagues. How it's odd, really, that we've not run into each other before now.

I didn't mention how I've gone out of my way to avoid certain places, certain sections of HQ I know she frequents. I'm not really sure how long it would have gone on like that, but I find myself rather grateful now, that fate put an end to my avoidance this morning.

The Marina District in view, we talked about work, and while she was more than happy to listen to me ramble on about my classes, she was decidedly less eager to talk about _her_ current pursuits. I didn't force it, curious as I am.

I'd already heard, of course, that she's been offered a promotion, and that she's yet to accept.

After the debriefings, after the leave time, she took to a desk at headquarters, and I assumed she'd transition right into the Admiralty. But, even weeks after the official offer, it hasn't happened, and I know her well enough to be certain there's a good reason she's not taken the job.

I've heard a number of popular "theories" around HQ, usually because people have sought me out for confirmation - for inside knowledge they assume I must have. I honestly can't guess at the number of conversations started in my direction that were purely to solicit information about Kathryn Janeway. But even if I _were_ the sort to oblige the curiosities, I've had nothing to share. _I've been busy, _I'd say, when circumstances forced me to engage. (Of course, that paved the way for a whole other kind of "theorizing" - most of which I've tried my damnedest to ignore.)

Since returning to Earth, we've had to contend with our share of celebrity, to say the least - especially early on. Fresh returned from our trek through the Delta Quadrant (for all intents and purposes, back from the dead) with stories to tell, traumas to relate, and knowledge to share, we've been a favorite topic of media and Starfleet personnel alike. Kathryn most of all, followed by Seven. And next on the "list", me, I guess - but more often than not, it hasn't been _me_ so much as it's been my position relative to _them_.

I've not tolerated it especially well, and as a result, I've acquired a reputation for being a poor interview subject, so rarely do I offer the details or the sound bites they're after - so infrequently do I give anything but the most cursory response to any questions I'm forced to indulge.

We were "instructed" to be courteous and cooperative with the media. "Watch the classified information," they said, "but give them your presence. You guys are heroes, and that's something we could all use right now."

_Right. _

With declining enlistment, waning power in the quadrant, and more than a few public blunders on the books, what they really meant was, we should help give Starfleet a much-needed boost. Be "ambassadors to the public image," to quote Tom Paris. I've not really participated in the whole affair.

To this day, I'm not certain whether they pardoned me because I "demonstrated a firm re-commitment to the cause and values of Starfleet," to use their well-scripted words, or if it was because they wanted me, my story, as _Voyager's _First Officer, to boost their image.

It matters very little to me at this point, but it sure pissed me off plenty when we first got back. Don't get me wrong - I was happy to have my "sins" forgiven. And I didn't - don't - mind talking about the scientific aspects of our time in the Delta Quadrant. But the incessant fascination with our personal lives - _that_ I've no patience for.

I might have done something about it eventually - no idea what; punched a reporter, maybe - but then suddenly, it all fell off my radar, when I found myself faced with the task of burying the woman I loved.

_The other woman I loved._

The thought's in my mind before I can stop it but I'm honestly not sure, anymore, why I'd bother trying.

The heart of it, to a large extent, is that Seven and I came together because we shared, and saw in each other, the same love for the woman neither of us could have. Don't get me wrong - that was not the only driver of our relationship. But, there was a certain solace - a closeness we had - because we found in and with each other a greater understanding of ourselves.

I don't know that Kathryn ever _really_ knew. Not because she was blind to us, but because I don't think she could really _allow_ herself to know - to _see_, to _really_ _hold_ the truth of that love and what it meant.

Part it was her position, of course - and that's what she'd tell anyone who asked, why she didn't take up with someone out there.

In reality, there was never any guarantee we'd make it home, and a "violation" of Starfleet protocol in this case would have been completely forgivable. It didn't matter, though - for Kathryn, accepting this particular breach of duty, in some ways, meant she was giving up on getting us home. And, let's face it, sometimes it's just easier - safer - sticking with what you know...not risking your control.

Of course, I can't pretend to know, that she _would_ have stayed as grounded, as focused, had she compromised on this - and I can see that now, looking back. I can understand - and forgive - her reasons. Why she kept me close, but not _too_ close.

At the time, particularly in the later years of our journey, I was damn angry about it all. It crept up on me, building as I tried to ignore it, but you can only dance the same dance so many times before it starts to wear you down. I get that now, and I would have handled things better back then, if only I'd found my lucidity sooner.

Instead, I spent a good many hours of my off time in the boxing ring on the holodeck - my hurt feelings, mangled and rotten from stewing too long in my head, boiling over in a left hook, a jab, a low kick. Not accomplishing anything, but back then, it was the only way I could cope.

Time, distance, tragedy...I'm not the same person I was. I'm grateful for the more enlightened perspective - regretful at the cost by which it came. But such is the way of things...

I watch as Kathryn takes a sip of her coffee, and, by all outside appearances, we're just two old friends gathered for breakfast - life, other diners, moving around us in normal time.

Eggs over there, pancakes, coffee, juice...sun streaming in the front windows, lively chatter all around, and the two of us - she alternating, between looking at me and her cup, with occasional glances out the windows, and me, mostly just looking at her - just another part of the scene. You'd never guess, glancing at us, that we've traveled to hell and back several times over. That we spent lonely, isolated years in an unknown and unforgiving part of the galaxy, and that in its wake we found a gaping chasm between us and the lives we used to know - one I'm not sure will ever completely vanish. We're "home", but it's not as simple as that.

_She looks tired_.

I've noticed her hands rarely leave the table when she talks, and when she smiles, it does not reach her eyes. The _spark_ that I used to know and love so well, is absent.

I fight back the impulse, to grab her hand, or to reach up and brush the hair back from her face.

_Old habits._ Sometimes they just come back to you, given the right circumstances.

I don't recognize anyone else here, which is not surprising considering that we're not at all close to headquarters.

It's possible that _we_ are recognized, of course - it still happens from time to time, often in the oddest of places - but if anyone has noticed us, they either don't care or they are polite enough to leave us alone.

I take a sip of my coffee and decide to take a chance.

"Why haven't you contacted me all this time, Kathryn?"

She's quick to respond, even though she's clearly a bit taken aback by my question. "I could ask you the same thing."

"Fair enough," I say, and then, with more boldness than I'd planned or thought myself capable at this moment - "I really regret the way things went for us, Kathryn. My life's not been the same without you."

She takes in a breath, holds it, and I think I've stunned her with my directness. I take the opportunity to continue, not willing to waste the feeling that's come over me while it still lasts. "I know it started before Seven - before I _dated_ Seven. I can't really pinpoint it - the moment when things changed for us - and I've spent plenty of time, trying to figure it out. All I know is that it's been too long, Kathryn. I've yet to really make sense of my life here on Earth, and part of that is because you've been completely absent from it."

My words hang in the air for a moment, and then settle around us. She takes a deep breath in and out, and brings her palms to grip around her coffee cup.

"It _has_ been too long."

Her words strike right at the heart of my fear, and she must recognize that because she holds up her hand, rushes to clarify. "What I mean is, I feel the same way." She pauses, and I can tell that she is gathering her words carefully.

"Chakotay..." her voice is low and soft and although I should be perfectly reassured by what she's already said, my heart races as I wait for her to say more - as if our fate is about to be declared. She shakes her head, presses her lips together before continuing. "It's strange - I _miss_ the Delta Quadrant. The place we spent seven years trying to flee - I miss it. Do you believe that?"

"I do," I say - though I know she's not really asking for an answer. And she's not done. I fold my hands on the table, remind myself to breathe as she continues.

"But it's not the _place_, of course - it's what I had when I was in it. The _people_..." She looks up at me, and her eyes are warm and sad at the same time. "And, _you_, by my side. Ready to tackle whatever that blasted part of the galaxy threw at us next. I miss _being with you, _Chakotay."

Relief washes over me, and I grab her hand in both of mine. It's warm from the cup.

She brings her other hand on top of mine, and we sit like that for a while, sharing understanding, and thoughts, in our silence.

I squeeze her hand, and meet her eyes, and what flashes between us is, _I'm sorry that I hurt you. _And that was really at the heart of it, for both of us.

And then, looking directly at me still, she says, softly, "I miss her."

My throat tightens, and I nod and look down at our hands. I think about the three of us, the paths we have traveled, and how much we have meant to each other. I take a deep breath, and when I look up at her again, I see my own feelings mirrored in her eyes. My next words come easily -

"She would be happy, seeing us here like this."

She nods, squeezes my hands.

We sit like that until our food arrives.

There's more to say (isn't there always), but for now, I think we are both happy to focus on eating.

And we do, until we're about halfway through our meal, when she says suddenly -

"I'm not done. Out there."

I pause mid-bite, and regard her.

"I'm not ready to be permanently desk-bound, here on Earth." She laughs lightly and shakes her head, gestures in the air with her fork. "It's only just now that it's become completely clear to me. _I'm not done exploring. _It feels so good to say it."

She tilts her head slightly and stares off into the distance, as if considering what "exploring" would mean, what it would be like.

And I smile, because I see in her eyes a hint of that _spark_ that I remember so well.


End file.
